


rarely pure and never simple

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. death must be beautiful.





	rarely pure and never simple

**Author's Note:**

> Pre- and Rebellion Era. Second Person PoV.

he has to him an endless fascination with everything you say.

you think that is what you like best.

he's long since gotten used to your fingers trailing his back. out of respect, he's docked his wings, letting you touch the skin just above and below where they would sit. two more pairs; how would they look, you wonder? he has his eyes pointed straight ahead, out towards the edges of the sky, but he's sending glances your way every time he thinks you don't notice. he will never be used to your fingers trailing his back.

"... the skydwellers drink coffee too?" he's asking. his hands fidget. yours roam. "you're so kind to them, lucifer."

are you? you think of it not as kindness, but greediness. you were made with the purpose of evolution in mind, so you lust for it, endlessly-needfully-insatiably. you give a shake of your head that he cannot see. you want and you need and you could find yourself utterly blinded to your devotion of purpose. that is how your creator intended you, after all.

"it's a selfish act on my part. i merely wish to see what they can come up with."

"surely-- surely nothing as amazing as your coffee!"

he ricochets back and forth. he knows your desires and he wants to please them; he feels his devotion and he wants to please _you_. he cannot do both, so he goes forth on a rickety catwalk, forgetting he can fly.

your palms ease against his back. you hear his soft intake of breath when you lean closer. the ragged scarf around your neck trails his fingers, and you see them shake, struggling with the urge to grip and cling to every part of you. he thinks you are blind.

no, sandalphon. you are a primal piece of this world; you see everything.

"if things stay their course, the skydwellers will surpass even i, someday. and perhaps so shall you."

"lucifer..."

the shuddering exhale he gives when you withdraw is nothing short of worship.

* * *

he has to him an unending passion that twists and corrupts at the slightest touch.

you think that is what you like best.

you truly were ignorant of his purpose, but if you had tried, you could have known. you do not afford sandalphon much thought outside of your visits, not when the skies broil, not when the elemental balance can be so fickle, sometimes. your creator's words wound you. but they are not unexpected.

he hears. he shakes. he leaves your shared gardens and the lab for the very first time. he roars to the end of the skies. and when you arrive, he looks to you as an enemy.

you are selfish and greedy. you wished to see sandalphon evolve of your accord, through coffee, through long talks and careful words. you'd wished to see him grow-- not as a pet, as your friend had said. no. as a plant. a tree.

but this tree's roots have been invaded. he twists, he changes. evolution is not as simple as the planting of a coffee tree, but it is the death of thousands, it is generations and generations of pain just to inch forward in the astral eye. suffering unfettered. and you lust after it with a vengeance.

sandalphon doesn't stand a chance. neither does lucilius. the difference is whose remains you clutch to yourself, in the end.

like a child you will cage him. and when you have decided it is time, only then you will let him grow.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from works by Oscar Wilde.


End file.
